


An Irresistible Truth

by akitsuko



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming In Pants, First Kiss, Frottage, Kissing, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder, Murder Husbands, Murder Kink, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25533790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitsuko/pseuds/akitsuko
Summary: And when Oswald looks at him with warm affection and a manic smile, the knife still clutched loosely between sticky, crimson fingers, Ed might just explode.Ed loves watching Oswald work.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 4
Kudos: 118





	An Irresistible Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if this was graphic enough to need the violence warning, but better safe than sorry. Just something short while I work on some longer bits.

Oswald is on fire. Fury blazes from his wild eyes, teeth gritted, face bloodied, as he smashes his captive with a crowbar. Left side, right side. The man is barely conscious, his limbs twitching involuntarily, but Oswald doesn't stop. He's alight. This is where he comes alive. 

And Ed… Ed comes alive just watching him. All that channelled rage is a phenomenal thing to witness. His lungs burn where he forgets to breathe, his eyes sting where he refuses to blink. Blink, and he might miss something spectacular. 

He needs to see it all. 

There's red splattered across his glasses. He's probably standing too close. 

Oswald yells, too. Screams. Anger radiates from his pores. What a vision, Ed thinks. All cruel edges and sadistic tunnel vision, Oswald is utterly incapable of holding back when he's impassioned. He can wear as many masks as he likes, but this is his true self, entitled to his place at the top of Gotham's food chain and God help anyone who dares to stand in his way. 

It's intoxicating to be within touching distance of all that power. Ed wrings his hands; they're clammy and hot. Sinks his teeth into his lower lip to stifle a groan. He's forever grateful when Oswald allows him to be present for these special events. 

And special they are. Oswald in his element, taking pure and unbridled pride in his work, is a spectacular sight to behold. 

He feels everything so deeply, and yet has no capacity for empathy. A beautiful paradox. Wonderful and dangerous and addictive. 

There's no fight left in their victim. His head slumps as Oswald throws the crowbar to the ground. He's a disgusting mess of fluids and mangled flesh, discoloured and broken in a hundred different ways. If it were in the cards for him to live, it would undoubtedly be with significant brain damage. 

But there's no fanfare or flourish as Oswald flicks open his blade and slits the dying man's throat, one ear to the other. The spluttering gurgle as he bleeds out would once have made Ed gag, but now it has his heart pounding against his ribcage. 

And when Oswald looks at him with warm affection and a manic smile, the knife still clutched loosely between sticky, crimson fingers, Ed might just explode. He's out of control, helpless to stop as he closes the few feet of distance between them. 

Oswald doesn't look worried. Why would he be? He's riding the high of torture. 

Ed grabs handfuls of his shirt. The red stains across the crisp, white fabric are probably beyond repair. Perhaps they are deep enough to have smeared across the torso underneath. The thought has Ed shuddering. 

He pulls Oswald towards him and kisses him with an open mouth. He smells amazing and he tastes metallic, bitter, painful. Ed is suddenly dizzy, a rush of euphoria making him lightheaded as he yanks Oswald closer still, the heat of his body unbelievable, the heaves of his chest a counter rhythm to Ed's own. 

If he's lucky, Oswald won't stab him for this. It would be worth it though. If he has to die, let him die knowing the taste of Oswald on his tongue and sharing in the glorious joy of this kill. 

He can't bite back the whimper in his throat when he feels the cool edge of the blade pressed against his neck. Oswald breaks the kiss and looks up at him, searching for something, but all Ed can focus on are the bloody tracks on his face and the lingering sensory memory of his mouth. He wants it again, he wants it so much, and if Oswald has to slice him open then so be it. 

There's a fever to it when Oswald tugs him back down.  _ He's into it.  _ They kiss and they press together, messy and inelegant, too much teeth and tongue and grinding bones. The knife stays where it is, digging against Ed's carotid artery. Dear lord, it only brings Ed's desperation to new heights. His hips rut against Oswald without finesse, a primal and frenzied chase for gratification, and something tingles deep in his gut when Oswald responds in kind. 

Nails gouge and claw. Ed hasn't the presence of mind to even consider getting either of them to a state of undress. He's unwilling to relinquish Oswald's lips for a second, intent on devouring every drop of him while he has the chance, while they're both delirious on murder. 

Oswald moans into him, a high and needy keen, and Ed  _ feels things _ . They rock together where they stand, before their unseeing audience of one. It's not voyeurism and it's not exhibitionism, but it's completely thrilling, and it's dirtier than any killing could ever be. 

Then, soon,  _ too soon _ , Oswald is shaking against him, gasping, hips twitching. Stunning in every way. In a moment of frenzy, Ed breaks their stinging kiss to drag his tongue across Oswald's cheek, tasting sweat and blood and fulfilment. 

Gorgeous. How could any rational person be expected to keep their head?

Ed bites, hard and almost furious, as his pleasure builds to a point of white heat and overcomes him. There's nothing in his world but Oswald and the freshly created corpse and the knife still grazing his neck. And he doesn't let go of Oswald, even after he's finally stopped shaking and he's got his breath back. 

Oswald will have to be the one to move first. 

And he does, eventually, pulling the blade away and snapping it closed. He steps back, not far but far enough, adjusting his trousers with an undisguised grimace. As soon as Ed shifts, he makes what he's sure is a very similar expression. It's been so long since he last came in his pants that he'd forgotten how unpleasant it could feel afterwards. 

Perhaps it says something about him that he's more revolted by the feeling of his own semen than the taste of someone else's blood on another man's lips. 

There's a moment of not-quite-awkwardness while they regard each other. Nothing is said, but it's not necessary; they know each other too well, and words can so often be misleading. So, when Oswald offers him a hesitant smile before turning to leave the warehouse (the cleanup crew will deal with the mess, after all), Ed is confident to follow close behind. 


End file.
